La Migra

GROWING UP, Los Angeles was the older brother I never had. LA seemed cooler, rawer, more exciting, slightly dangerous, and above all, different. Visions of grandeur suffocated my mind as I imagined living the A-life: cruising Sunset with the next big thing wrapped around my arm, jaunting to the hills for 360° parties, lazy beachside living on some private Malibu stretch. This seemed just a taste of the good life I hungered for. The longer this notion ate at my stomach, the more the pangs turned to nausea.

My quiet perch in San Diego left me yearning for a new outlet. I constantly ridiculed my father’s exodus from LA thirty years prior, unable to fathom any motives for leaving a seeming paradise. I felt I was riding the bench while these Angelenos were stealing all the showtime. But my perspective was lost in the haze to the heart of LA.

As a child, LA only really began when I drove past the Holiday Inn (now Hotel Angeleno). Visits to Grandpas’ house firmly rooted the LA of yesteryear in my mind; living in a virtually unchanged Paul William’s home from the early 30’s kept the lonestar this-world-is-my-own feeling so fervently espoused by current Westerners (the same Range Roving patrons now set in their ivory towers). I want this return to simplicity.

My feelings are mixed. I hated this town my first full year in residence. I felt trapped, insignificant, someone else’s doormat. The overwhelming allure of the town hooked another baitfish, but I soon found my outlets of escape.

The 405 is clearly in cahoots with Satan. Though this devilish path hampers my daily travels and often is the number one scheduling factor, it is also the introduction to my sanctuary. More mixed feelings. Until I arrive at Highway 395, then the bliss takes the wheel and doesn’t stop for all the weeks spent on top of the world in my Mammoth heaven.

Los Angeles cannot be defined, much in the same way I cannot define my experience living here. It's a launching pad to the rest of the world, where a day's travel inside or out of the city leaves nothing to the imagination. I do know there is an exorbitant amount of bullshit to wade through, but I also know the reward of finding the perfect niche in this Renaissance land.

--Weston Finfer

caption: the erstwhile holiday inn @ the 405
credit: chase stone